


to the monsters who didn't succeed

by winsome



Series: cemetery sings [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Mental Health Issues, brief descriptions of violence, institutionalization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 03:46:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2758400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winsome/pseuds/winsome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray uses love like band-aids on bullet wounds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to the monsters who didn't succeed

**Author's Note:**

> This story plays fast and loose (to put it lightly) with the Swan Lake storyline.
> 
> The hospital is a semi-permanent residence. In the interest of clarity, DID is dissociative identity disorder, what used to be known as multiple personality disorder.

"Trying out for the swan queen?" Michael's echoed in the gym, breaking Ray's concentration. The hospital didn't have a barre, why would they, so he was doing his exercise free-standing, which was probably a terrible idea. As long as the caretakers didn't know what a bad idea it was, though, it didn't matter. Ray rolled his neck and slowly relaxed his arms down from over his head, pressing his heels back onto the ground in a controlled descent. "Don't think our production of the nativity scene is gonna require your level of talent, if we're being honest," Michael continued, making his way to where Ray was.

"Well, you know," Ray said. He breathed out through his mouth, then turned to Michael. "What's up?"

"Nothing, just fucking bored. You're allowed in here alone?"

Ray nodded. "Kind of. They have to check my feet before bed, but I've been a good boy."

"God, I've heard about that. Ballet feet, or whatever." Michael ambled over, hands in pockets, forced non-chalance obvious. "Can I see them?"

Ray shrugged. "It's not that exciting. Mostly my toes are a little fucked up. No scabbing or bleeding, or else they'd probably take away my fucking gym time."

"That's rough," Michael said. "You can keep going, if you want. Didn't want to mess up your exercise."

"No," Ray said. "Fuck it." He raised his left leg to take off a ballet slipper, and as he repeated the action with his right leg, he caught Michael examining his toes. He grinned. "Not so bad, huh?" He contemplated taking his sweater off his sweaty torso, but decided he still wasn't ready.

"I dunno," said Michael. "Still looks a little fucked up. Your little toes are kinda... bent."

"Whatever." Ray said. "Let's go eat some saltless goop."

"You know, it's fucking weird seeing a ballerina with a beard," Michael mused as they shut the lights to the gym off and headed out. "They should probably let at least you shave."

Ray snorted. "So I can off myself with the razors? They didn't let me use a fork when I got here, Michael. I don't think they're gonna give me a crazy's easiest way of fucking themselves up."

"Depressed kids," Michael groused. "So damn vanilla."

* * *

"New guy in tomorrow," said Barbara. "Word on the street says he's got DID."

"What word on what street, Barb?" asked Michael, fighting to be heard over the sounds of Call of Duty. It was one of six games they had at their leisure -- ironic, very ironic, that Ray couldn't listen to hard rock over the speakers in the den, but the sounds of shooting and killing people was fair game. He shifted next to Ray on their beanbag, but didn't move out of it, even though there were plenty of plastic chairs available and he couldn't be comfortable.

"Fine," she conceded. "Burnie told me. They're only pretty sure. He fucked off from his job for like, six days, and showed up bloody at the hospital with no memories. He's getting driven in tomorrow."

"No one likes a gossip," Kerry said as he died on Call of Duty.

"And Burnie shouldn't be telling you this shit," Geoff said. It was 7 PM, so he was drinking plain whiskey out of a tumblr. Their days were made up of schedules like that: breakfast, therapy, lunch, free time, Geoff drinking, bed.

Barbara laughed. "Like you can talk, drunky. Who the hell hired you here again?"

"I'll have you know, I'm important to this institution. I'm a qualified medical professional. I have a degree and shit." There was smattered laughter throughout the room. Michael nudged Ray.

"You used your outside time for the day?" he asked.

Ray smiled. He thought of the comfort of here, of the voices washing over him, and he thought of Michael under the stars, and the cool autumn wind in the trees, and he said, "Not yet."

* * *

"Foot check," Jack said tiredly.

Ray would offer to let him skip, but he knows Jack couldn't, even if they trusted him. He'd explained it to Ray -- even if Ray showed exemplary behaviour, and no destructive tendencies, he could unconsciously push himself beyond his limits. Start hurting himself from neglect. Ray shifted in bed and decided not to get up, he just took off his socks and wiggled his feet at Jack. Jack sighed and wandered over, doing the quickest check of toes and heels.

"Little red," Jack said. "Little chafed. That's not a problem, right?"

"You're asking me?" Ray wiggled his toes. "Aren't you the expert here?" Jack shot him a look, and he just grinned a shit-eating grin. "It's fine, Jack. I just need to moisturize." _Not that it's any of your fucking business._ He shook his head physically, trying to will the thought away.

"Yeah, buddy," Jack said. "Lights out."

* * *

"So, your mental state over the past week, on a scale of one to ten," Ashley said. "How about you give me one number for the whole thing." She was the good cop situation of their therapy, which was the major reason she saw the most of Ray. They had three resident psychiatrists, one for group therapy (Burnie), one no-nonsense (Gus), and Ashley was all softness and listening. She was the only one he could talk to honestly.

"Four," Ray mumbled. He picked at his jeans.

"All right, a four," Ashley made note of that in the notebook on her knee. "And could you tell me what that means, to you?"

Ray coughed and adjusted himself in his seat. "I miss my own video games," he said. "And I miss dancing. I don't want to die as badly, but I can't concentrate. I'm eating regularly but I don't like it."

"What do you want to get out of your time here, Ray?" she asked.

"Re-integration to society," Ray repeated from muscle memory. "To be healthy."

"Will you hurt yourself again?"

"I'm not sure," he said.

* * *

The new guy was named Ryan Haywood. He brought in one duffle bag, probably of pullover sweaters and custom soap if the guy acted like he looked. He was older than Ray expected. Their institution grouped people by ages, and if someone was placed in a younger ward they usually had a developmental disorder. Beyond that, when he met Ray, he looked him in the eye and smiled and said, "Nice to meet you." Ray always felt a little put off when people came in as permanent residents but acted normal. Michael pushed up to the guy and said, "Hey, what's up, dicksuck. How good are you at video games?" Lindsay shook her head disapprovingly but Ray laughed.

Ryan shrugged. "Better than you, probably."

A round of "ooooh!"s came up behind them from Barbara and Blaine, the welcome/farewell committee (that they'd made a week prior). Before the guy could get settled in or even get the lowdown from Geoff, Michael was giving him the Forest Whitaker eye and dragging him to the den for video games. Ray decided not to tell them he was out and started towards his room, but Lindsay stopped him. She pulled on his hand gently and tilted her head towards where the rest of the inpatients were making a racket, but he said, "Gonna go dance for a bit." She let go and smiled at him, stepping away.

* * *

Two days later, Ryan and Ray had yet to talk one-on-one, and Ryan was reading in the gym when Ray arrived. Ray did his best to ignore him, though, and not let a stranger stop his practice. He hated people being there, he hated them watching him, he hated them judging him. He slipped on his shoes with shaking hands and started with stretches, free-standing again.

"You're a ballerina, then?" Ryan asked.

Ray turned to look at him without stopping his stretches and shrugged. "Kinda."

When Ray didn't elaborate, Ryan raised an eyebrow at him. "How is someone 'kinda' a ballerina? Isn't that the kind of thing you are or aren't?"

"I mean," Ray started. "Kinda." Ryan laughed, not meanly. "Not professionally. And they just call us dancers. It was always a hobby. I wanted to go professional, before..." Ray gestured around. "You know, before here."

"And 'here' just happened to you?"

Ray eyed Ryan up. _Fuck you_. "Happened to you, didn't it?"

"Guess so," Ryan said. He went back to his book. As much as Ray didn't want it, his curiosity was pulling him in.

"Why are you reading in here?" Ray asked, stretching one leg over his head to the standing vertical split. Ryan did a double take.

"Uh," he said. "Um, well, they're playing ping pong in the rec room, and they're playing Xbox in the den, and not all of us are lucky enough to have a single." When Ray tilted his head, Ryan explained, "I'm rooming with Chris," and he was about to explain why that was a problem, but Ray started laughing.

"No, I totally get that," he said. "He's weird. It's fine." Ray kept stretching out, thinking about how his right side was slightly more flexible over his left, and Ryan spoke up again.

"Depression?" he asked. When Ray looked over, he was reading his book.

"Yeah," Ray replied. "DID?"

"Good guess." Ryan turned the page.

"Not a guess. They -- uhh, the inpatients -- were gossipping about you the other night." Ryan looked up while Ray got into position. "There's not a whole lot else to do around here."

"You're really selling this place for me."

Ray shrugged and looked away, preparing for his set of the night. He breathed out heavily, checking on his foot position, before executing a grand plie and beginning. Ryan left some time during his set without saying goodbye.

* * *

Ryan was wandering around the halls aimlessly when Ray spotted him. "Hey, Ryan!" shouted Ray. "We need one more person to do this in CoD. You busy?"

"We need no such thing," Michael said, but leaned over Lindsay to pat the chair next to her in invitation. They were occupying the fold-up chairs in front of the TV. Ryan looked at wherever he was heading, which Ray assumed was nowhere, then meandered into the den and sat down beside Lindsay.

"Alright, Ryan, here's the thing," Michael said, handing him a controller. "This isn't fucking amateur hour. We're gonna do the impossible. Zombies. We're beating it."

Ryan squinted at the screen. "The original? How are we supposed to beat this?"

"Don't get snippy with us, mister," Ray said. Lindsay reached over for a fist-bump and he gave it to her without thinking. "The only way to do it is with sheer will-power."

Michael nodded at Ray. "I like ya moxie, kid," he said with a shitty Jersey accent. "Ya got gumption."

Ryan looked like he was having regrets, but Lindsay smiled at him. Ray knew firsthand that you couldn't fight that, and Ryan proved him right by looking at her then saying, "All right, yeah, fine, let's do this."

* * *

They ended up getting to level 29 with Ryan and Ray carrying the entire team. Eventually Michael and Lindsay fucked off to the kitchen to "gather snacks," which was code for hold hands and rest their foreheads together. Ray didn't mind, though, because Ryan scooted to the chair next to him, and their knees rested together while Ray played campaign for the next two hours, even after Michael and Lindsay came back empty handed. It was nice; it felt normal.

* * *

They didn't often take free grounds time while the sun was high, but Barb had started yelling at Kerry and Michael needed out. Him and Ray wandered around aimlessly until the smokers vacated the gazebo outside their ward, Michael taking seat immediately in the back-middle. It smelled terrible, but Ray joined him, leaning over the wall to look out at the trees. It was so secluded here, nothing like New York City. Ray missed the noise at the same time he was glad for the lack of sirens and traffic. It was the most intense change about moving out here, minus the lack of freedom. The emptiness of the wilderness that had driven away all the animals except the domestic ones. The lack of sound.

"When we get outta here, we're gonna live together, right?" Michael asked, twiddling with his thumbs. He was trying not to show how badly their yelling had amped him up.

"Yeah," Ray said. "If I ever get out. Lindsay can come too."

Michael shook his head. They both knew Lindsay was probably never getting out, and Michael didn't like it when Ray pretended.

"Winter's on its way, huh?" Ray said. He looked over at Michael, then turned around and sat properly next to him. "Think we'll be here in spring? Think we'll be alive in spring?"

Michael nodded up at the roof. "Yeah. We've got each other."

* * *

"I wanna show you something," Ryan said. "You got ground time from today?"

Ray nodded and looked around for someone to take his game. "Jump in?" he offered to Kerry, who nodded and took his controller without making eye contact. Ray gave himself a mental note to tell Jack he was having an extra off day.

Ryan grabbed his hand as soon as he got up, and Ray's heart skipped a beat. "Uh," he said.

"Don't worry," Ryan said, and his eyes glinted. He turned towards the big double doors leading them out to the grounds instead of the covered gardens.

"What's out there?" Ray asked. "Do you need anything from the lockers?" Ryan subtly let go of Ray's hand before Jack, who was monitoring the doors, came into sight.

Ryan didn't answer him but nodded at Jack, signing them out on the time log by the doors. Ryan was acting odd, but Ray shook it off. Everyone here was weird. It's why they were here.

Ryan led him into the cool air over to a copse of trees, away from the giant glass windows by the front of their rec room and hidden from the gazebo. Before Ray had time to ask what was happening, Ryan was kissing him.

Ray pulled back, slightly, and opened his mouth to ask what Ryan was doing, and Ryan pushed his tongue into Ray's mouth. Ray jumped a little in surprise, but Ryan wasn't cowed, sliding his tongue against Ray's firmly and moving his hands down to Ray's hips. Ray sighed at the warmth, at Ryan's insistence, and wrapped his arms around Ryan's neck. Their facial hair scratched together uncomfortably, but he didn't mind. It had been too long -- too long since someone touched him like this. He responded in kind to Ryan, licking inside his mouth tentatively.

Ryan removed his hands from Ray's hips and it took him a moment to notice he'd pulled down his hospital issued sweatpants. Ray's heart jammed inside his chest when he realized Ryan was already hard, and his own blood rushed to his dick heavily. He pulled back a little and stammer, "R-Ryan, what is--"

Ryan hushed him with another kiss, though, and palmed Ray's dick through his pants. Feeling its weight, he smiled and pulled down Ray's pants as well.

"Now, Ryan?" Ray panted, unsure of how badly he wanted this at the moment. Ryan's eyes narrowed at that, and he yanked Ray's underwear down below his balls and snapped it there. Ryan licked his palm, thick and heavy twice, and wrapped it tightly around Ray's shaft.

"You look so fragile when you dance," he whispered into Ray's ear as he yanked on his dick. "Like a scared rabbit. I wanted to eat you up."

It was odd, but he wasn't going to start asking questions while there was a hand on his dick. Ray groaned and leaned his head back against the brick building as Ryan pumped him, hard and fast and tight, and tried to breathe evenly. Ryan's hand was callused, but it was good, so much better than a jerk in the showers. Ryan leaned towards Ray's tilted head, pulled him up by his hair, and kissed into his mouth while still jerking at him. The moments until his climax, then, were quiet, except for the small damp shift of skin on skin and his own heavy breathing. Before he was about to cum, he choked out a small, "Ry, I'm gonna-- I'm gonna cum." Ryan just licked his palm and went back harder, and a few seconds later, all of Ray's cognitive thinking shot out of his dick.

When he came to, Ryan was rubbing Ray's jizz on some leaves and giving it an unhappy face. Ray grinned at him lazily, and when Ryan finished, he just studied Ray's post-orgasm face with mild curiosity. "C'mere," Ray said. He sank to his knees in front of Ryan's erection and gathered his sweater sleeves in bunches in his hands so they wouldn't fall. "Lemme help a brother out."

* * *

He brushed his teeth as soon as he got back inside, to the in-head tune of, _Why the fuck did you do that, why the fuck did you do that_.

* * *

"You and Michael have formed a very strong relationship in your time here," Ashley said. They didn't have a lot to talk about these days, which was probably a good sign. But Ray would always get recommitted, every time he got out. He didn't put a lot of stock in actually leaving.

"He's my best friend," Ray confirmed.

"You're well-acquainted with his disorder?"

"Very." When Ashley waited for him to continue, he dug around a bit. "Um, you know. I don't like to say our problems are compatible, but we can make it work. He knows how to deal with me and I know how to deal with him. It makes it... easier here, than the other times. To have someone like him. It's not all serious. He's the kind of friend who can know when something's wrong with you, and just... helps you focus on something else."

"Mmm," Ashley said. "And have you met the new resident?"

Ray did his best not to flush. "He's a nice guy," he said, then, "When are we gonna get Mario Kart in here?"

* * *

"There's this misconception of ballerinas as frail, huh?" asked Ryan after Ray completed his practice for the day. "Looks untrue." He was sitting a couple feet from the doors, in the spot that Ray mentally referred to as his even though he'd only seen him there a handful of times.

"We go hard as fuck," Ray agreed from the floor, cross-legged. He massaged his feet gently and prayed Jack would take the dry excuse again. He probably should have taken it easy today, but it was the closest he got to pain in this sterile place.

"You look lovely," Ryan mused. Ray paused and laughed, back arching over his feet.

"What the fuck?" he said. "Lovely?"

"Yeah. When you dance."

The only thought running through Ray's head was a small mantra of _Love me, love me, love me,_ but that was the kind of thing you didn't tell someone after getting them off once, that's the kind of stuff that makes you crazy. When it got too loud, Ray grasped at his hair a bit, but it only got worse. He forced him himself to get up, slow and controlled, and instead of running, walked to the exit. Ryan looked up at him as he passed.

Ryan said, "Dance for me some time."

Ray waved a hand behind him. "What do you think this was?"

* * *

"Foot check," Jack said, and Ray squirmed. He looked to his feet hesitantly, wondering if there was any way he could get out of this, before he realized there wasn't. He pulled his socks off and didn't look Jack in the eye. Without having to wander over, Jack could already see, but he came over all the same.

"You know I have to report this," Jack said gently. "Those shoes and the alone gym time are priveliges." Ray's baby toes were scabbing and one of his big toenails was cracking and slightly bloodied from being weight and agitation. Jack examined them without touching. "Come on, bud, we gotta get you to the infirmary before bed." He held out his arm, and Ray tentatively took it.

"I'm sorry, Jack, I'm so sorry," he said, but Jack shook his head.

"Just don't do it next time, okay?"

* * *

"You use up your grounds time today?" Michael asked the next evening with a nudge. They were settled on the beanbag again, while Lindsay and Barbara played Little Big Planet in the fold up chairs. Ray was almost falling asleep, even though the sun was barely down. It was warm and the talk was quiet and constant. Geoff and Jack had dragged checkers in from the rec room and were playing them in the corner, and Geoff was getting drunker and drunker the more he lost, which was a vicious circle of causality.

Ray tilted his head towards Michael. "I, uhh... actually. I got ground priveliges revoked."

Michael stopped. "What the fuck? What happened?"

"...My feet," Ray said. "I was pushing too hard, with dancing. I can go to the courtyard and I can dance for half an hour a day when Jack's there, but that's it."

"Dude," Michael said. "That's fucking balls! There's old people in the courtyard! Where are we gonna get our alone time?" He looked at Ray hard, then pulled him into a hug, not a quick one. One that was there to stay, for comfort. For Michael.

Ryan was watching them from the couch. His eyes didn't waver, he didn't even pretend to not be staring. Ray did his best to focus on Michael and said, "I dunno, bud."

Kerry, who apparently had a sensor for gay events, said "Gayyyyyy!" without taking his eyes off of Lindsay and Barbara's game.

"Michael!" Geoff slurred."Help me school this guy at checkers!"

"Ray!" Jack called. "If you join me, there's no way this asshole will win!"

Michael sighed against Ray's forehead. "Duty calls, huh?" he said, not yet letting go.

"Well, that's what happens when you're as important as we are."

* * *

Ryan never came to watch Ray dance while Jack was supervising him.

* * *

Group therapy was Ray's least favourite therapy. Some people (Barbara and Michael) thrived in it, getting a sense of community, a feeling of people there to help you. Others (Lindsay and Ray) came out anxious and worse for wear. It was mandatory attendance, though, so once a week the whole ward would shuffle together and sit in a circle while Burnie guided them with questions. Lindsay usually sat at Ray's left, so they could at least knock their knees together and poke at each other's hands. Ray perked up when Burnie turned to Ryan, though, and dropped his hand from Lindsay's.

"You've been here for a month, Ryan," Burnie said. Ryan was sitting almost exactly across from Ray, but he was focused on Burnie, as everyone else was and as Ray should have been.

"Yeah, it's been all right," Ryan said.

"Do you have any immediate goals you'd like to share with the group?" Burnie asked, pushing gently in that way that wasn't really pushing at all. Offering with an obvious out.

"My disorder is the result of trauma," Ryan said, clear and open. That was new for group therapy: usually the confidence came after many, many sessions with people you knew intimately. "The doctors are split on whether I should be seeking treatment and ways to deal with this or if I should be confronting what happened to me. One is like upkeep on an old, failing house. The other's kinda like burning it down."

"And how do you feel about these two options?"

Ryan shrugged and kept looking Burnie in the eye. "They both terrify me."

They went around the circle, and when it came to him, Ray said, "Nothing to share," and when Burnie looked at Lindsay she grabbed Ray's hand and shook her head.

* * *

The courtyard was getting cold, but it was worth the fresh air. It was set in the middle of five wards, and had a holed metal ceiling and the best flowers the hospital cared to buy. There were usually people out there, older residents who were gardening or breathing in the faint nature smell. Ryan had taken to accompanying Ray out there and talking to him. He always felt more Ryan out here, relaxed and soft and gentle. It was immeasurably comforting to look at the stars with him. They kept their heads low and no one bothered them.

They sat side-by-side on a cold bench, connected by one scarf that Michael's mother had brought him and Ray had immediately borrowed. Ryan's side was warm, and Ray would have liked nothing better than to snuggle into it.

"Don't you think you could do it?" Ryan asked. "Leave, I mean. You seem all right. You don't have to have faith that you won't relapse, you just have to know you'll work on it."

Ray shook his head. "I don't know, Ry," he said. "I don't... remember what it feels like to be out there. That's the scariest thing. I'm nothing like normal people, and they all know it when they look at me. I've been in and out of here so often, it just feels like I shouldn't even bother at this point. My dad says, at least you're not slashing your arms up in there." He looked at Ryan. "How about you?"

"I'm worried about what's underneath this," Ryan confessed. "I'm worried if I come out the other side, that I'll find out who I really am, and it won't be who I thought I was this whole time. I think I know that I have to figure out what happened to me, what my brain's trying so hard to cover up. Guess I'm just scared, too." He sighed, and his breath puffed out in a cloud of vapour. "Been practicing?" he asked without segue.

"As much as I can with Jack watching me," Ray replied. The change of subject was abrupt, but not entirely unwelcome. He lay his head against Ryan's shoulder, and Ryan stiffened for a second before relaxing and hesitantly putting his hand through Ray's hair. "I miss you being there." Ryan's hand stopped.

Michael barged through the door then, and said, "Ray, it's Michael time." Ray jumped, and Ryan made a small sound of frustration before pulling his half of the scarf off and standing up.

"Kay, I'm going to bed. Night, Ray." Ryan gave a short wave and went back in, not looking back to see that Ray waved at him and Michael took no time replacing him on the bench, even pulled Ray onto his shoulder. He closed his eyes and Michael started playing with the branch of a low-hanging tree.

"Courtyard visits just aren't the same as grounds visits," Ray sighs, pulling his sweaters tight and nuzzling into Michael. "The old people are weird. They don't look like they like me. I miss the gazebo." Michael made a small sound that could be approval or complete disinterest. Ray looked up at him to him.

"You've been spending a lot of time with Ryan lately," Michael said, and Ray shrugged.

"He's a nice guy," Ray said. "He's lonely."

"Aren't we all?" Michael picked a dying leaf off his tree. "Don't just forget about your old Mikey-pal cause there's a new guy in town."

Ray leaned on him. "You jealousss?" he asked. "Do you miss your main bro? All you have to do is say so."

"Of course I'm fucking jealous," Michael snapped. "You know what's wrong with me." Ray straightened and took his weight off Michael, who looked guilty immediately. "Sorry. I know it's not your problem. I'm trying to deal with it." He pulled Ray's weight back to his side.

"You're always gonna be my bro, Michael," Ray said.

They sat there, still, until it started to snow.

* * *

It took six weeks of good behaviour for Ray to get unsupervised gym visits and ground priveliges back, but it was well worth the wait. The whole ward had set up Christmas lights in their gym and den and rec room during the day, and when Ray ushered Ryan into the gym with him for a sneak practice, Ray did a particularly lovely set under the lights, a number from Swan Lake, with music coming from a tattered boombox. Ryan smiled at him the whole time, and though Ray tried to block it out, he couldn't completely. As he finished, breathing slightly heavier than he should be, Ryan clapped.

"Shit, Ray! That was incredible!"

Ray's heart skipped a beat and his smile split his face. He ran over to where Ryan was sitting on the floor and launched at him, kissing him straight on the mouth. Ryan made a noise of surprise, but smiled through the kiss.

"Umm," Ryan said when Ray pulled back, his face flushing a bit. "Thanks."

Ray grinned. "You're cute."

* * *

"Jack said lights out!" Chris said as Ray sidled into their room past bedtime.

"Chris, I swear to shit, you gotta shut your mouth before Jack comes in and I'm forced to tell him you said you'd kill me if I didn't come here," Ray whispered harshly as Ryan sat up and blinked around the room. When Ray climbed into bed next to him, he smiled sleepily and touched Ray's face.

"Ray, what the hell are you doing here?"

Chris breathed heavily. "Fine, just keep the gay stuff quiet." He turned over in bed, probably, and Ray snuggled up to Ryan's neck.

"I didn't wanna sleep alone tonight," he said. "I'll sneak out before morning, okay?"

"Nah," said Ryan, wrapping his arms around Ray. "Never leave."

* * *

More and more often, Ryan would bring Ray out to the grounds so they could get each other off, and more and more often, when Michael asked Ray if he had any grounds time left, he'd have to say no. Ryan would stare at him while it happened and mouth things that Ray wasn't sure he wanted to decipher.

* * *

It was a moderate day, not precisely sunny but the wind was warm and the snow was melting despite it being the middle of January. They had enough of a routine that when Ryan gestured to the outside with his head, Ray understood; they had enough of a routine that Ray figured they wouldn't get caught. He was sucking hotly on Ryan's shaft, bobbing his head deep as he could without vomming all over Ryan's dick, while Ryan groaned and whispered to him. Their routine made it so that when Michael's voice piped up, near, he froze instead of acting out the contingency plans he used to come up with.

"So this is why, huh?" he said. "This is why you two have been spending so much fuckin' time together?"

Ray pulled off slower than he'd have liked and shamefully wiped his mouth, despite Ryan's slight protest. He buried the urge to duck his head and stay down and got up instead, turning around and dusting the snow off his freezing knees. "Michael, what's--uh..."

But Michael was stalking towards them, and Ray flinched. It wasn't for him, though, as Michael full on punched Ryan in the face. Ryan staggered a little, but his back to the wall so it didn't amount to much.

Michael shook his hand out and glared at Ryan. "What the fuck is your problem? You don't fucking touch him, you hear me?"

Ryan tucked himself back into his pants and he felt his face gingerly. His eyes were full on feral when he looked back at Michael. "Oh, I can't do that now? I didn't know you were Ray's orderly. I was under the impression he's a grown ass adult who can make his own decisions. Good thing he's got a big bear like you to protect him from all the bad wolves."

Michael was about to rile up even more, maybe even punch him again, before Ray jumped in. He slammed a hand on Ryan's chest. "Hey, you don't talk to him like that!"

"You don't tell me what to do," Ryan snarled. "Don't defend him after he punched me."

"Ryan!" snapped Ray, as Michael said, "I'm ready to do it again!"

"It's James," Ryan said, heaving slightly. Ray stared at him with wide eyes, and Michael dropped his arms. Ryan stalked off, and then Michael took off in the opposite direction, leaving Ray alone in the trees.

* * *

Michael was curled up in bed, and it was past lights out, but he looked so sad and small, so unlike Michael. Ray knelt by his bedside and rested his eyes against the mattress. He wanted Michael to jump up, to suggest they sneak to the kitchen and steal cookies, he wanted Michael to ask him why the fuck he was there, he wanted Michael to say anything, to start the conversation like he always did.

"I love you, Michael," Ray said. It felt odd on his tongue, but he needed Michael to hear it, not just to hope. "I love you."

"Then why don't you show it," Michael said softly. "Everyone loves you until it becomes a verb."

"I do," whispered Ray. "I love you."

"I love you," Michael said, but he didn't turn to look at Ray. He didn't mean it in pair with Ray's; he meant it as a completely different statement. _Useless_ , Ray told himself. _Useless, useless asshole, can't even help your friend_. Ray sat there trying not to cry and only left once Michael's breathing evened out.

* * *

Michael slammed Ryan's head into a table the next day at breakfast. Geoff sedated him and he was taken to the high-security ward, where Ray couldn't see him. No one knew what it was about, because Ryan kept his mouth shut tight.

* * *

"You're not very on form today," Jack commented. He didn't have to be there, but Ray was practicing through lunch and it wasn't Jack's turn to monitor.

Ray dropped his arms angrily, and leveled his feet out. "Yeah, well, fuck you. I know I suck at this. At least I'm doing something other than fucking myself up."

"I didn't mean that," Jack said. "And there's more than one way to fuck yourself up." He was quiet for a moment as Ray just stood alone and started working out his muscles. "Did you eat lunch?" asked Jack. "I'm just asking because no one saw." When Ray didn't answer, just stubbornly stretched his legs, Jack said, "Come on, guy. This isn't a negotiable thing. Terms of contract: you eat at least sixty percent of what we give you, three times a day. You gotta hop in before one o'clock, or you know the nightmare that will happen. It's for your own good."

Ray was ready to snap, but when he turned around and saw Jack's face, his shoulders sagged. "I know," he said. He wanted to at least look in a full-length mirror, to examine his feet positioning, to see his legs. He was hungry. He was tired. He wanted Michael to be out of high-security. He wanted his brain to stop.

Jack's face softened. He walked to Ray and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Come on, buddy," he said. "Let's go get some lunch, okay?"

* * *

Ryan wandered into his room the next day. Ray was lying on his bed, just wearing a plain white t-shirt so his arms were on display, thick ropes of pale scar tissue up and down his veins, on the backs of his forearms, banding by his elbow. Ryan knelt by his bedside and traced them gently with his hands.

"Is this why you always wear sweaters?" he asked after a couple minutes of silent scar-tracing.

Ray nodded.

"I just thought it was a ballet thing."

Ray shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Ray. I should have told you I've been losing time."

Ray breathed heavily. So Michael told him. "Was that not you? All along?" he asked quietly.

"It was me," Ryan said, "sometimes."

"I'm sorry," Ray said. "I'm really sorry. I wouldn't have, Ry, I hope you know that. It was gross of me."

Ryan shook his head. "It happens," he said, and that didn't comfort Ray even slightly.

* * *

Ray knew the news couldn't be that good when he was invited into Burnie's office. People didn't often go there for one-on-one therapy, they went there for bad news. When he sat down opposite Burnie, separated by the large birch desk, his fears were confirmed when he was given a sympathetic smile. "Michael's mental state has been deteriorating. He's going to be transferred at the end of the week."

"What?" Ray asked, though he heard perfectly.

"I'm afraid he's at a point where this environment is impeding his progress," said Burnie. "I'm aware you two are close, but we can't afford any special priveliges other than letting you know. He's still going to be held in solitary care until then."

"No," said Ray. "Look, he's--fine, he's just having a tough time!"

"I know this is hard on you both," Burnie adjusted his glasses uncomfortably. "The transfer was requested by his family. We'll all miss him."

"He needs me!" Ray said desperately. Burnie's eyes on him were very sad then, and Ray knew he was switching right back to psychiatry mode, and that was too much right now. "There's -- Burnie, we gotta do something, this is his home!"

There was silence for a moment as Burnie digested what he said. "No," he said at length. "This is a place that is supposed to be making him better so he can go home. As soon as it's not doing that, it should no longer be where he stays."

Ray shut his mouth at that, and when he saw the pity in Burnie's face, he buried his head in his hands.

* * *

They forced him out of his room for mealtimes the next day, but they allowed him to skip on group therapy so he spent the rest of it in bed. When Jack came by to check his feet, Ray said, "I didn't fucking dance today," and Jack just took his leave with a quiet, "Good night."

* * *

He left his room willingly three days after, not to sit in the den where Ryan probably was, but in the rec room where Chris and Blaine were being terrible playing ping pong. He sat next to Lindsay, who was watching them be terrible from a couple feet away. She reached out and laced her fingers through Ray's. It was so gentle and timid and sweet that it broke Ray's heart. He turned to her, and she opened up her arm, and he leaned in and began to cry.

After, Lindsay brought him to the kitchen, where she made him eat a cookie with threatening facial gestures. She grabbed a dry-erase marker and wrote on the meal planner, "You're going to be okay." Ray smoothed her hair and said, "You're gonna be okay, too, dude." Her smile was sad, like she'd heard it before, and she shook her head and gestured back to her whiteboard message.

* * *

It was another solid month before Ryan came in when Ray was dancing. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. Apologies just wouldn't cut it if Ryan was hurt but -- but he was here, and that was something. So instead of dancing and continuing on normally, Ray turned around and watched him. He seemed to be thinking.

"Wanna go for a walk?" Ryan asked, and Ray froze. "To the courtyard," he clarified quickly. Ray nodded.

They dropped by his room for another sweater and Michael's scarf. Ray held it in his hands, debating whether or not he should even bring it, before he decided on yes. There was no reason not to. He gave Ryan half of it before they went into the courtyard.

"You miss him?" Ryan asked once the door was closed behind them.

"No fucking doubt," Ray said, kicking the snow that had trickled through the holey ceiling. "What is he doing without me?"

"Being fine, hopefully," Ryan offered, and Ray glared at him. "Hey, Ray, I think you're getting confused about what this is. We're here to get better. You forget that."

Ray scrubbed at his head, hard. "Yeah, I do, because no one out there gets it. The days I can't get out of bed, the days I hate people for being alive and near me, the days I can't eat -- they don't understand that on the best days there's something inside me waiting to swallow me whole. Here, we're fucking crazy, but we have each other. What's so good about outside? It's messy, and disgusting. That couldn't ever be home." He stomped on a lovely, melting patch of snow without any footprints.

"Hey, Ray," Ryan said. "Look at me." He pulled Ray's face towards his. "You're gonna get better, okay? You can do it on your own." He looked between Ray's eyes. "You make your own home."

* * *

"You look better," Ashley said. Ray was silent but he was listening. "You can't use crutches when you need to be stretching your muscles, Ray. And it hurts, but I hope you see how much better you're doing." 

* * *

"Ray," Burnie said. "Would you like to share today?"

Lindsay and Ray had taken to holding hands all through group therapy instead of fooling around, and he'd told her what he was going to do today, so she squeezed his hand. He could feel all eyes on him as he took a deep breath, and said, "Yeah."

Burnie smiled, clearly trying not to make it too warm but too pleased to override it. "Well, what would you like to talk about?"

"I guess, I'd like to talk about how being sick is treated in the community. The first time I tried to commit suicide, I was almost all alone in life, and my mother found me in a pool of my own vomit on our couch. I think that broke up my parent's marriage, actually," he laughed, and a couple in the group laughed quietly with him. "After I went to the hospital, I had to get escorted here for the first time. The cops did it, and this one big guy, he got me in the back of his cruiser and asked me why I'd do it, that my parents loved me and that I was spoiled..."

As he related the story, he kept looking back at Ryan. Ryan was watching him, sadly, carefully, and every time Ray thought his voice was going to give out, Ryan nodded at him in a way that said, "Go on." So he did. All the way from his first suicide attempt with pills, to his second with slashing his wrists open, third with hanging, and fourth with slashing his wrists open again. He talked about how people would ask to see his scars, how strangers would say suicide was selfish and something inside him would shrivel, how people didn't want to understand. When he wound down, Lindsay was holding his shoulder, and Ryan was still watching him. "...And so," Ray finished in anticlimax. "So here we are. And I'm scared to get out of here because you guys understand me. Nothing scares me more than being alone." Kerry, who was sitting on his other side, patted his knee, which was more physical contact than they'd ever had.

"Thank you, Ray," Burnie said. He didn't offer any solutions. He looked proud. "That was a big step. I'm glad you shared with us."

* * *

Spring was in full swing when Ray heard, for the first time in nearly a year, "Call for you!" He was wary picking up the phone, and he certainly didn't expect for it to be Michael's voice that greeted him.

"Dude!" yelled Michael. "Guess who's out, for good!"

"Holy shit, dude, for real?" Ray yelled, swivelling around for someone to share this excitement with, but he was alone in the phone room. "That's awesome!"

"Yeah, I mean, barring a major relapse, I'm like. Out. Got an apartment. Looking for a job. I've got a cell phone that I can keep on past nine every night."

Ray grinned into the phone. "Incredible. Are you gonna come visit me soon?"

"Probably not right away, I'm fucking swamped. Dude, though, when you get out, you're always welcome with me! I wasn't joshin' around! It'll be the Michael and Ray Gay Time. I miss you so much, man." Ray nodded even though Michael couldn't see him and clutched the phone receiver. "The world's so fuckin' busy out here, I know it was only like nine months for me, but shit, stuff changes. There's this wild thing called Marvel, people are nuts for it. Hobbit movies! Fuckin', video games are insane, you would not believe. They're what I live for. Full brain integration, you can literally just fuck off to Spira for an afternoon." Michael kept talking, and Ray closed his eyes, letting Michael's voice wash over him. It was so fucking nice. After a couple minutes, the word "Ryan" came up, and Ray's eyes snapped open.

"Huh?"

"I said, did you ever tell Ryan you love that motherfucker?" Michael asked, and Ray metaphorically flopped around like a fish out of water.

"No, I don't have time for the romance in here," he said. "Use it and lose it. You know how it goes. Pussy, money, weed."

"Shut your mouth, you little weasel. I mean, I have to go soon anyway, but I'm gonna use this as a reason to hang up on you. Jack's got my phone number, okay? If you ever need anything, I'll make time to get down there. And you call me the second Burnie says your ass is outta there. The point is: for now, go tell fucking Ryan. Life's short, even when you're not trying to end it yourself. I love you. Tell Lindsay I love her."

And Michael clicked off.

* * *

Ray peeked around the corner of the den entrance, and spotted Ryan in there. He almost gave up, seeing him stare at the screen in a tired haze, but instead he called out to him. "Hey, Ry? Courtyard?" Ryan got up and followed him out.

It wasn't exactly picturesque outside at that moment, muddy and hazy and with just enough post-rain chill to make it uncomfortable. Ray figured it was good enough for what he wanted to say, though. After all, love wasn't as pretty as the novels made it seem. Sometimes it was muddy and hazy and uncomfortable.

Ray drew in his breath and said, "I love you," but as soon as the "l" sound started, Ryan was shaking his head. "Hey! What're you doing that for!"

"You've got to understand how uncomfortable this is for me," Ryan said. "I don't know how much time we've actually spent together. Who do you even love? Me? Or the one who jacked you off outside, or do you love the guy who watches you dance?"

Ray shrugged. "Man, Ryan, I don't know how to figure out who was and wasn't you." It was probably painful to hear if the look on Ryan's face was anything to go by, but they needed a little honesty right now. "And I'm not saying this because I even want to be with you, right now, I don't know if we can, and I really hope we can be together one day, but there's so much still fucked up about this situation, and I ... wanted you to know. That I love you. The dude who played zombies with me and watched me dance and let me suck his dick and called me a dork for my curly fry fixation. I need you to know I love that guy. Cause life's short. And Michael made me."

Ryan stared at him until things got uncomfortable, and then started laughing.

"Jesus, rude," Ray huffed.

"No, no, you're an idiot, and I love you," Ryan laughed. Ray smiled at him hopefully and took a step forward, but Ryan put his hand out as he finished up laughing. "You're right, though," he said, and his smile was still on even as Ray's stomach bottomed out. "We can't be together right now. I still don't know what your feelings mean to me, all right? This is a much different situation for me than it is for you."

Ray tried not to frown. "I know that. I just wanted you to know and stuff."

At that, Ryan's mouth relaxed, and he opened his arms up for Ray to enter. "Okay." Ray wrapped himself all the way around Ryan and breathed him in.

"You're a good guy, Ryan," Ray said. "I hope you know that."

"You too."

* * *

It was either time for news or therapy, and Ray wasn't that frightened this time, sitting across from Burnie at his desk. Perhaps he should have been, a little.

"I'd make pleasantries, but, big news. It's time for you to check out," Burnie said, and Ray's blood turned to ice. At the look on Ray's face, Burnie began damage control. "I know you have a lot of hesitations about that, but you've been doing so well! And you opened up in group therapy, and I think you're at a stage in your healing where you can express your emotions in a productive manner, instead of turning them inwards. You'll always have a support system out there, as well. Michael has expressed interest in housing you and we have plenty of good psychiatrists where he is. If you're not comfortable with that, there are plenty of houses we have that can bring you back into everyday life."

"I don't think I'm ready," Ray said, and his breathing was hard. He didn't think he'd have a panic attack now, but he didn't want to rule it out. "Burnie, I don't--I don't think this is a good idea."

"Okay, breathe with me, Ray," Burnie said, carefully keeping on his side of the desk. "In, and two, and three, and four, and out, and two, and three and four." He repeated this, and Ray followed, forcing his breath out through his mouth and in through his nose. After a couple of minutes, Burnie trailed off, and Ray wiped at his eyes roughly.

Burnie got up from his chair and walked around his desk to kneel by Ray. "You know we won't make you do anything you're not ready for," Burnie said. "But it's time, Ray. I think you know that."

"Probably." He nodded wetly. "I can do it, right?"

Burnie smiled at him and wiped under his eye. "Yeah, you can."

* * *

Ryan smiled at Ray in the hallway and headed for him, but Ray couldn't smile back and stopped him with a hand on his chest. "I'm leaving."

* * *

They lay in Ray's bed together, and Ray kissed Ryan, over and over, on the nose, on the ear, on the forehead, on the lips. Ryan ran his hands up and down Ray's sides. "I think sometimes you have to burn it all down before you rebuild," Ryan said. "Or even find out what kind of foundation you're working with, in my case. I'm gonna do it. Treatment isn't cutting it anymore."

He wanted to say a million things to him then, least of all being "I wish you'd have done this while I was here," most being "I love you, I love you, I love you," but he settled for kissing Ryan's cheek.

"Call me, please, as soon as you can. I'll visit, I'll drop anything."

Ryan hummed and looked him in the eyes. He blinked a few times like he was figuring something out. "Wanna have sex tonight?"

Ray laughed. "Shut up." When he slapped Ryan, the bed squeaked.

* * *

Michael picked him up two days later. Geoff scrubbed a hand over his head and said, "You're gonna do great, kid." Barbara and Blaine beat on some trash cans in something that resembled a beat, singing the getting out song, which is apparently just "Getting out!" repeated over and over. Lindsay held one of his hands in both of hers and rubbed her cheek against them, and Ray's heart hurt. "He misses you," Ray murmured. "And I will too." She looked up at him and smiled then, and Ray hoped to hell he'd always remember how much he loved her in that moment.

It was hard. In a lot of ways, saying goodbye to Jack was the hardest. He pulled him into a hug and Ray dropped the duffle that contained his entire life.

"I'm gonna miss you," Jack said into Ray's hair. "Keep dancing, okay?" But Jack didn't let go, and neither did Ray.

"Thank you so much," Ray said against his chest. "You were so good to me. I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you more," Jack promised snottily. After not long enough, he unwrapped Ray from his arms. "But you gotta go. Gotta get on with your life."

Ryan didn't see him off, but Ray didn't expect him to.

* * *

Life with Michael was tedious, beautifully tedious. They had a small charming studio apartment, where Ray basically just dragged a mattress up next to Michael's and they called it a day. For a few weeks they picked up knitting before realizing it required dedication, then it was puzzles, which also take dedication, then they tried cooking more seriously and found they were both shit at it. It was fun, though, bouncing around their light airy kitchen together, listening to music that didn't get loud enough from Michael's phone, talking about their days. Like normal people do. Michael was an electrician's apprentice and Ray got a job at GameStop, and they both sucked, but Michael was making money and Ray was getting a discount on video games. Michael ecouraged Ray to try out for a dance company, and Ray was thinking about it.

There was no "recovered" state to it. Michael still had awful days where he went onto Ray's mattress and cried and asked Ray to stay with him forever, and Ray had days where looked at the sharp knives they kept for meat and thought about slitting his own throat. They would always be recovering; whether that was a negative or a positive thing depended on the day.

When Ray started dancing in a studio again, he ate enough, and he changed the tape and bandages on his feet every night with Michael in their apartment. As the months passed, it became home.

* * *

"How'd you get my address?" were the first words out of his mouth upon seeing Ryan at his door eleven months later. Certainly not as warm as he could have been, but definitely not as rude.

"Geoff," Ryan said. He was wearing jeans -- different from the hospital pants, they had a zipper for one. They looked nice for another. He was wearing a button down, which he also hadn't had at the hospital. He was wearing sunglasses which -- again -- hospital unapproved. He looked good.

He looked nervous.

"I," Ray started. "Wow. Come in, please."

Ryan did, using his feet to pull his shoes off at the entrance. "Wow," he said. "Nice place you got here."

"It's," Ray said. "Yeah, it is. Um, the rent's a bit steeper than I'd normally want, but we're in a good neighbourhood, you know, and it's... pretty."

"I'll say," he said. He walked around without waiting for Ray, examining the posters Michael and Ray had shoved up on the walls to make them less bare, examining the unmade beds, examining the big veranda and the roof-tall windows. "Didn't expect you to pick New York City again."

Ray chuckled at that. "Better than a small town, I think. I can get lost in the city if I have to." A stunted silence resumes, and Ray can't help but ask, "How are you? It's been, what, a year? You're less unshaved now." He knows it's been a year, but he's playing this game if Ryan's involved. He can't bare himself, not now, with Ryan casually looking out the windows, with the very real possibility this isn't anything more than a casual social call.

"You too," Ryan said. "It looks good, though. And I'm, y'know, doing good. I burned down the house. Metaphorically." Ray nodded at him, heart stuttering a bit. "It was rough." Ryan turned to him. "The mind wants to cover that stuff up for a reason. That's what my disorder is, anyway, coping mechanism."

"So you're feeling... better?"

Ryan grinned. "Yeah. Guess you could say that. I'm on new meds. I'm pretty much just one person these days, sticking around the Ryan area. It's nice. And, um, looks like you're feeling good."

Ray nodded. "Mm, yeah. Michael's making most of the money. He's dating some orderly, but he misses Lindsay, I think. Still loves her too. I'm, uh. Joining a company soon, I think. A ballet company. It's not, you know, the New York Ballet, but... one day, right?"

"That's great!" Ryan said, and it rang true. His smile was bright, and it kept hurting Ray. It shouldn't be this strong, the feeling of wanting someone who's so close to you. The past year washed over Ray, the loneliness and the fear and the desire for Ryan to talk to him about nothing.

"I missed you," Ray said.

Ryan's smile faded. "I missed you, too," he said. "I came here..." he cleared his throat. "I came here to invite you out to dinner, and I realized you'd probably... moved on. Once I got here."

Ray shook his head. "No, um. Nothing for me. No one in the picture. Not for a... year or so, I guess."

"Oh!" Ryan said, "That's great. Would you like to... catch up? Grab a bite to eat tonight?"

"I've--I've got work soon, actually, until late," Ray said awkwardly. Ryan looked a little disheartened by that, but Ray said, "But, you know! Thursday, or Friday? Or any day this weekend? I'd really..." A smile formed on Ryan's face and Ray's heart started beating double time. "I'd really like that," he finished.

"Yes, of course," Ryan said, fumbling for his phone. "Put your phone number in there." As Ray pulled it out of Ryan's hand, he reached for his own iPhone and handed it over. Ryan tsked, and Ray shook his head.

"iPhone," Ryan said as he created a new contact. "This relationship is gonna be an uphill battle."

Ray glared at him through trying to figure out his device. "Hey, buddy, screw you. Androids are for chumps." Ryan probably gave him a look, but he was too busy trying to figure out where the hell the contacts area was.

Once they put their numbers in each others' phones, things got a little quiet. Ryan started, "Well I should," just as Ray started, "You could stay," and they glanced at each other nervously.

"I'm gonna let you get ready for work," Ryan decided on. "But I'm gonna -- I'm gonna text you."

"Okay," Ray said, falling a little. "Yeah, no. That's probably a good idea." Ryan headed over to the entrance and toed his shoes on. "But we're on, okay? No backing out. I'm gonna show you how shitty this city can be."

Ryan smiled at him. "I'm counting on it. I'll see you later, man." Ray waved, and Ryan hesitated around the door, looking like he wanted to turn around, but walked out and closed it behind him. As soon as he left, Ray walked up to the door and looked through the peephole. He'd already walked away, though. That had been anticlimactic. Sighing, Ray turned around and slid down the door til he was sitting on the floor. He rested his forehead against his knees and just breathed, controlled, in through his nose til four and out through his mouth til four. It took two sets before he lifted his head.

A minute later, a text tone lit up his phone.

_I don't want you to say it back yet, but I love you. Hope you know._

Ray smiled at his phone, sent back _i know_ , and got up to make breakfast alone.


End file.
